


Four Corners

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Series: Prompt Responses [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hunt, Monster of the Week, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the spn prompt thing theme: INTERNET.</p>
<p>It only kinda fits the theme because I got this idea from <a href="http://uhhyeahdude.com/index.php/show_notes/episode_367_apr_4th_2013/">episode 367</a> of the podcast UYD (on the subject of <a href="http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/04/12/french-judge-rules-that-auction-of-hopi-masks-can-proceed/">this article</a>).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Corners

Arizona bothers Dean in the first place. They almost skipped this one and left it to the locals. All this desert can be downright eerie and the place is just full to bursting with Republicans which sets Sam off at the drop of a dime.

But. There is _definitely_ a hunt here.

Three auction houses have nearly been demolished in two weeks. The first collapsed in on itself. The second burst into flames, the third had actually been washed out by a one of those freak desert floods after an unseasonably heavy rain. The common thread between them was all too easy to see.

After being shouted down and handed restrictive orders by local courts, the front of each auction house played host to a constant wave of silent, stoic protesters. After the restraining orders had been passed out, they had been relegated to nearby parks or the opposite side of the street. Screaming and crying out hadn't worked, so now it's this: A line of native people with drawn faces standing opposite the fourth auction house, holding signs and flags, silent as the grave.

"I have never been someplace with so many people being so silent."

"And it's freaking you out, right?" Dean slides his eyes to Sam. "'Cause it's freaking me out."

Sam wavers for a moment, then nods. Dean slams shut the Impala's door and they round, rather than go through, the line of protesters to cross to a building that, for all they know, is about to fucking explode.

They identify themselves as being with the insurance company. They say they want to inspect the current storage situation. There's a lot of stuff that ought to have gone up to the block already but several auctions have been delayed by the change of venue. And a lot of merchandise was destroyed in each subsequent building.

"As you can see, the Hopi collection is still completely intact. It's the only one," the proprietor offers as he locks away the drawers from the other collections.

"That's good, that's what we'd heard," Sam says. "Would you show me the surveillance room? What with the situation outside, the company would just like to confirm what kind of exterior coverage you've got going on. Mr. Geiszler can meet us in a minute if you leave him the key."

The owner nods and hands his keys off to Dean.

"Right this way, Mr. Gottlieb," Sam follows him off.

Dean takes a good, long look around. One of the staffers is still standing by with an earpiece making a big show of specifically _not_ looking at him. Thankfully he's also got the security channel cranked up so loud, Dean can still hear it from across the room, and knows when Sam has been lead into the CCTV room. He gives Sam a good half minute to distract the owner and staff after an initial introduction. Then he takes out the box of putty and pretends to inspect one of the individual safes as he presses down as many keys as possible, saving the impressions.

And he's just thinking that nothing's hopping out at him, nothing's screaming "I'm a cursed object! Somebody touch me!" when something _literally screams at him_.

He crams the putty box back into his pocket and comes closer to the glass archival drawers that the owner had pulled out to present the Hopi masks.

He hears it again.

**_Hunter_** , something says.

And there's no way this wispy voice could be coming from the guard behind him.

He clears his throat. Says, "huh?"

**_Hunter_** , he hears a third time. **_We must be released_**.

There's a mask with a smiling blue face, wreathed in feathers. It seems almost to shimmer, but the light isn't right for it.

Dean darts a look back at the employee.

"Hey, uh," he turns, points.

"Edgar," the big guy offers.

"Edgar," Dean smiles and comes forward and hands over the keys, all nice and forthcoming. "You got any specs on this equipment? What alarms each of these sets of drawers are hooked up to? Silent or...?"

"Uh," he twists the keys in his hand. "I'll find Mr. Monroe and get you those. Just a moment."

He taps on his earpiece as he disappears.

Dean comes back around to the cabinets and tries to situate his back toward the nearest camera so it isn't immediately obvious that he's _talking to a drawer_.

"Hey. Hello?"

**_Hunter_** , that whisper again.

"Who are you, huh? I want a name."

**_We are Katsinam. We are Tawa and the Keeper of Fire and Masauwu. You must release us. We know who you are. We can help you._ **

"Hey, look. I don't need help. Help like what? Help like burning the place down? Or flooding it out?"

**_We have tried to escape. To return home_** , it sounds a bit reluctant. **_Nothing stops them. Nothing releases us_**.

"Well," Dean sighs. "You're behind bulletproof glass and an inch of steel."

**_Release us_** , the voice swells within him.

"The documents you asked for, Mr. Geiszler?" Mr. Monroe, smiling, pops back into storage with him. Dean doesn't get another moment alone and, even when his gaze lingers on them one last time, following Sam out, they are silent.

«»

Sam waits until they get back in the car.

"Dude, _breathe_ ," Sam commands.

"Oh my-ff-holy shit, Sam," Dean lets out a breath and takes in another one, gusting.

"What happened?!"

"They talked the-the drawer full of masks, the masks talked. Something. Tawa and Keeper of Fire and Katsinam and something, I can't-- I can't even, it was like it was right in my head."

"The masks, the Hopi masks?"

"Well, it--they. They said," he stops, curls his fingers around the steering wheel and grips until it creaks a little. He'd thought he was long past being freaked out with other beings barging into his skull.

Sam leans forward a little and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, solid, warm. "You okay?"

"Okay. Okay, alright. They said. It said. They said-- WHATEVER. The fucking masks knew I was a hunter and they wanted out. They said they'd help. They said they'd tried before. They were, like, _disappointed_ that burning the place down and whatever else didn't work. They're just trying to get out," he explains as best he can, in a rush.

"Alright, okay." Sam turns to dig in the back seat and pulls up his bag, takes out his iPad. As he's waiting for a search to load, he looks out the windshield at the silent line of protesters.

"Oh," Sam says. "Duh," he says. He puts the iPad back.

«»

It takes a little convincing. They'd crossed the picket line and were in nice tailored suits, after all. But it turns out all they really have to do is let Dean freak out a little about the creepy, whispery voice in his head and finally one of the protesters steps forward and draws them off into the parking lot.

"Katsinam, yes. Friends. Warriors and friends and gods. They're in there. Not just--" he gives them another appraising, skeptical look. "We're not just saying that the masks are sacred, alright? The gods? They're _in there_. _They_ are not masks. _They_ are gods."

The gods themselves had been tethered into those masks generations ago. Then they'd been stolen, sold, auctioned off, and now they are up for sale again. The largest collection of Hopi masks in one place.

"That's probably why they had the collective power to take out three buildings," Sam marvels, wide-eyed.

From that point, the locals take them a little more seriously.

The protesters work in shifts. They barely ever leave, but at the Winchesters' promise, they disband at sunset.

Sam convinces them to go out for the night, be seen, get alibis. In other words, Sam and Dean have the building specs, they have copies of the keys, they know the security systems from their inspection. They can get in and take out the masks as long as no one is there to witness.

Again, it takes convincing. But when Dean reveals that one of the gods had been in his head trying to get his help, people start to listen. Their gods, their own personal gods and heroes, the spirits of their greatest warriors and ancestors are locked up in there, trying desperately to escape and finally come home.

So the protesters give in and leave for the night. They are sure to be seen driving off by security and the members of the staff who are going home for the evening.

And Sam and Dean roll up again, behind the building this time, in the exploitable blind spot Sam had spotted in the surveillance room. Convenient.

Honestly, in their attempts to get free, the gods hadn't even killed anyone. Back at the motel, Sam went through all the old records. At previous auctions and under other owners, they hadn't brought harm to a single human. So, they really can do this. They can give these gods back to their families.

"We'll just make sure," Sam mumbles as he carefully dismantles an electrical panel, "you know, make them promise, not to harm anyone. To go home quietly." Sam bites on his bottom lip and finally flips off everything they don't need.

From there it's weirdly... easy. The overnight guy who mans the cameras should have freaked out, run into the hall or called the cops, giving them only four minutes to get in and out. But they don't hear anything. Maybe he fell asleep on shift? Convenient.

The keys help them get in and all the default factory override codes on the alarms are still good. _Convenient._

It also turns out that Sam somehow turned off all the lights in the building. _Except_ for those in the CCTV monitoring room. They can tell by the cracked-open door, the blue light of the screens, the silhouette of the bored security guard reading his magazine.

"That's... not possible," Sam whispers.

"I'll take what I can get," Dean says, and tugs on a black mask to dart under the cameras, wait, and run, wait and run, to the room with the gods living in drawers.

Not a peep. Not an alarm, no movement from the guard.

Sam catches up again. "Do you think they're... helping us?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "I'll ask."

Again, it's easy, _too_ easy to get into the locked room and the cabinets. To lift the thick glass and--

_**You will release us.** _

"That's the plan," Dean responds aloud.

"What?" Sam asks.

"So get us outta here quick, alright?"

As they stack the gods inside their duffle bags, Sam stammers out an apology. "Don't--uh. Sorry. It's all we had."

"Temporary accommodations," Dean whispers.

"Temporary accommodations!" Sam agrees.

They stack the gods _very carefully_ inside their bags.

And _bolt_.

Not a single creaking door. Not a secondary alarm. Sam even takes the time to flip the rest of the power to the building back on.

Which is when the alarms from the unlocked cabinets begin blaring.

But they don't know that because they're already a quarter mile down the road when the guard goes to check.

At three a.m. the protest line reassembles outside of town. They accept their gods back and return to their homes to stash the living masks. It's just as creepy as when Sam and Dean first pulled into town. They stand there silent, in a line, and they only animate as each of them accepts one of the spirits or gods into their hands. They seem to shake off the silence and dead eyes, mutter thank-yous, and then simply drive off. At dawn, they reassemble outside the auction house and are subjected to police interrogation. For which they all have outstanding alibis.

Convenient.


End file.
